Those Darn Spokes

One day I was going to the Utah State Fair with my dad. I'm guessing he maybe had to go for work, because sometimes he did that, to run the radio station's booth. Or maybe we were just going for our own fun, because sometimes we did that, too. I'm guessing that our car wasn't running at the time, because my dad was giving me a ride on his bike. We would never get away with it these days, because I doubt either of us had helmets, and I was sitting on the horizontal bar of his ten speed, holding my feet up. It was nothing new, we had ridden like this plenty of times. I guess this ride was longer than usual, though, because it got hard to hold my legs up, and before I knew it, my foot had dropped and got stuck in the spokes of the front wheel.


Oh, my poor dad. My poor, poor dad. =( The front wheel stopped, and the bike flipped over. I remember my dad shooting over my head and landing somewhere down the road from where I laid, with my mangled foot still stuck in those darn spokes. I'm sure that wreck wasn't a quiet one, and some of the people in the neighborhood came running out of their houses to help. I remember someone holding my bleeding foot on a wet washcloth in their hands. But even though I had a mangled up foot, and I'm sure I had bleeding scrapes and cuts, my dad by far got the worse end of the deal. He skidded on the road, and his arms and legs were totally eaten up. I'm sure he probably had cuts on his face and head, too. I don't remember super clearly. But I felt so bad! To this day I cringe when I think about it, not because of my foot, but because I hurt my Daddy.